


Confident Sutures

by pipistrelle



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Episode Tag, F/F, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Symbionts, Trills, s2e04: Invasive Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6310222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipistrelle/pseuds/pipistrelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes during and after "Invasive Procedures". Dax has lost hosts before, but this is very different. Sisko and Bashir have done what they can to help; now it's Kira's turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confident Sutures

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Shae for reading this over! No thanks to DS9 for passing up a perfectly good opportunity to resolve an episode using the Power of Gay Love.
> 
> In the universe of this fic, Kira and Dax have made out a lot and probably had casual tension-relieving sex at least once during Season 1. Other than that everything is the same.

"Jadzia," Kira says softly.

Verad's head is spinning. Verad _Dax_ , now, still being born, still half-formed and struggling to emerge from the cocoon of mediocrity that has waited so long to receive it. The grating whine of the ancient turbolift batters at him from all sides like -- _the beach on Betelguese with Alamonta/the engines on that rustbucket Klingon bird of prey we stole from the Romulan outpost on Corax IV/the screech of the heating engine back at home_ \--

Home? He's had eight different homes now, every one clear and distinct in his memory, none of them real. Every smell and sound, every movement, every swirling speck of dust wakes memories, too many memories to hold, to process. Is this the symbiont fighting him? Is it possible to fight yourself?

"Jadzia," Kira says, louder, exactly like she called across the crowded Replimat yesterday, when she appeared like a gift from the Prophets to save Jadzia from the tender affections of Morn.

Of all the lives in him Jadzia is uppermost, still so raw, so furious and terrified. In time the wound of her memory might scab over, but there is no time. "Jadzia," Kira calls, and the Jadzia inside of him blooms like a phoenix fusion reaction, rises to the surface in a fierce pang of anger, fear, devotion, love --

"Quiet," Verad snarls.

The Klingon holding Kira gives her a shake, but she doesn't seem to notice. "You are Jadzia, aren't you?"

"Jadzia is…a part of me, yes. And she knows all your tricks, so don't try anything." He does know about the stinger-gun she kept in her boot in her Resistance days, about the knife she sometimes straps to her wrist. He knows the moves she favors to disarm a larger opponent ("Most opponents are," she told Jadzia once, with a rueful smile). He could beat her into submission if he has to. She's strong and well-trained but he is Dax now, he has all Dax's memories, surely that must count for something --

 _You're afraid of her_ , he tells himself, some self, and at the same time Kira says, "If you're Jadzia, turn and face me."

He doesn't want to turn but he does, a sharp about-face that would be the pride of a Starfleet parade ground. "Be quiet!" There, that's the Dax voice, powerful with the ease of command, the confidence of seven lifetimes. Eight, now. "Once I'm aboard my ship, I'll release you. There's no need to make this difficult."

"You'll never make it," Kira says, casually. "And even if you do, there's no hope for you."

"Don't make me gag you," Verad warns, and he wants to look away from her then, but he doesn't. He can't. She's transfixed him, this unremarkable Bajoran who he considered to be nothing more a potential threat until a few hours ago -- until he became Dax. The low light in the turbolift falls in stripes across her pale face and red uniform, winking and glittering on the chain of her earring. She looks like a torch to his new eyes, burning away in the dark. A torch, a wildfire -- yet she holds his gaze, pale but unafraid. She should be afraid of him, he thinks. He could be a killer. Dax has killed before, many times. And now that he, Verad, has Dax --

"You won't make it half a light year," she says, softly now, hardly more than a whisper. "You've managed to kill _and_ kidnap a Federation officer, and they don't take that lightly. Sisko will never stop hunting you, with all the Federation's resources. They'll tear apart every asteroid in the Gamma Quadrant if they have to. And even if you slip through their net, I'll find you. I don't care how many bodies you steal. I'll hunt you for as long as you live."

"You'd never leave Bajor," Verad sneers, unable to help himself. "You, Kira Nerys --"

It's a mistake. The feel of her name on his tongue hits him like a phaser burst. Jadzia rises in him like a solar tide, all heat and light, energy and force, calling, crying, _Nerys, Nerys, please, Nerys_ \--

"She is in there," Kira says. She's still holding his gaze, her eyes wide in the half-dark, large Bajoran pupils swallowing the light. Like black holes, Jadzia used to think. Beyond time and space. "She's in there, I can see her." Kira moves faster than the Klingon can stop her and grasps Verad's arm. "Come back to us, Jadzia," she pleads, her voice low. "Come back to me."

Yes! Jadzia cries, and Verad barks, "No!"

The turbolift grinds to a halt, the doors open. Verad bursts into the hallway, desperate for air, for the sight of something other than Kira's eyes, Kira's lips. He can still feel that soft mouth on Jadzia's skin, those hands in Jadzia's hair, and it makes him want to weep, to surrender, to turn and beg her forgiveness, but no -- it's too late, too late, he keeps telling himself, too late, he tells Jadzia. It's over. It was a complete success. We won.

No, Jadzia cries, like a dagger of light stabbed through him, but here's the airlock. He's won.

"This isn't over, Dax," Kira says, and the memory of hearing her make that same promise to Jadzia a few desperate hours ago nearly slows his hand as he reaches out to the airlock controls. But it is over. It is.

He's won.

* * *

 Kira has Ops while they save Jadzia's life.

"I need somebody up there," Sisko told her, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder as she made to follow the security team dragging Verad Dax down to the Infirmary. "The storm is over. The crew and civilians will be coming back, and someone needs to manage the docking ring. I'll let you know the minute there's news."

 _Commander's privilege_ , Kira thinks bitterly. It's not fair of her but damn it, she has a right to be bitter. Sisko gets to be by Dax's side as Jadzia fights for life, while Kira is stuck allocating docking pylons to returning personnel carriers and trying not to grind her teeth at the cheery homecoming hails of their pilots.

Impatience can be a worse enemy than any Cardassian, she learned that a long time ago, and she tries to take centering meditative breaths between issuing orders. When that doesn't work she leaves the center console to O'Brien and takes to pacing back and forth in front of Sisko's empty office. In the back of her mind, a deep memory rises of the flat plain outside the Singha refugee camp, the remnants of what had once been a farm before it had been pounded into lifeless dust by Cardassian pressure bombs. The old, withered vedek living in the camp had walked it in a circle a kilometer wide, deliberately leaving a trail of scuffed footprints in the dust, and sometimes the adults of the camp followed his trail, their heads bowed, murmuring. She had asked her grandmother why they did it. "It's a kind of praying," her grandmother had told her. "A prayer of motion. It helps bring the body into alignment with the spirit so we can more clearly hear the Prophets."

The pacing does help clear her mind a bit, but for once Kira isn't interested in hearing the Prophets. Today, she wants them to hear her.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Odo drifting towards her from his accustomed post at the security console. "Try walking a little less vehemently, Major. You'll wear a hole in that floor, and it's Cardassian duranium."

He's hovering, keeping a watchful eye over station activities like a mother _makbar_ bird over its chicks, trying to reassure himself that nothing slipped under his radar while he was in stasis. If he's worried about Dax, he doesn't show it. But surely he'd have told her if --

"Any word from Sisko?" she demands.

"No word," Odo says, but then they both hear the grating whine of the turbolift and snap around to see Sisko rising in the cage, his hands clasped behind his back, face expressionless.

"Chief, Constable. Major." He nods at each of them as he steps out onto the floor. Just as Kira is drawing breath to ask what the _hell_ he thinks he's playing at, his stoic mask breaks into a smile that could outshine Bajor's sun. "You'll all be pleased to know that Jadzia Dax is with us once again."

"Oh, thank goodness," O'Brien sighs. Odo nods approvingly. The fear gripping Kira's heart relaxes like a cut noose, her hands uncurling from half-formed fists. An answer to prayer, she thinks, almost numb with relief. She'll have to light a dozen candles in the chapel tonight to thank the Prophets.

"We'll have a debrief for the rest of Ops staff at 1300 hours," Sisko continues. "Odo, send a detachment to the Infirmary to keep an eye on our guests until we can make arrangements for them."

"With pleasure," Odo answers. Kira doesn't fault him for the venomous glee in his voice.

"Some guest," Chief O'Brien snorts. His wound is more or less fully healed thanks to Bashir's clever gadgets, but his uniform shirt is still blackened and scorched. "If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what will happen to Verad?"

"He's going back to Trill," Odo declares. "All trussed up like a bird for the spit."

Sisko nods. "I sent a message by subspace to notify the Trill government of what happened here, and they requested his immediate return. He's the only Trill to ever survive being joined and then… unjoined. I imagine they'll want to study him."

"And punish him," Kira adds. She sounds a little gleefully venomous herself. "What's the punishment for trying to steal a symbiont?"

"There isn't one," Sisko says, sounding surprised. "It's never been done before. An unthinkable crime."

"But he won't go free!"

"Oh, I very much doubt that." Sisko's gaze grows distant, his voice almost dreamy. "He defaced and defiled the Joining, what all Trill revere and hope for. His name will be reviled for a million lifetimes."

"Seems a lot to risk for a shot at a different personality," O'Brien says under his breath, rubbing his shoulder.

"A shot at a kind of immortality, Chief," Sisko corrects him. "Perhaps not so much to risk for that." He glances past O'Brien at the console, nods and claps the Chief's good shoulder. "Fine work you've done here. Everyone home?"

"Just about," Kira answers as Sisko comes to join her in front of his office, accepting the PADD she hands him. "Two more personnel carriers are due from Bajor within the hour, but we've told the scheduled visitors not to expect to be able to dock before 2100 tonight, to give us time to complete post-storm checks."

Sisko gives the PADD a cursory glance. "Very good, Major. I think I can handle things from here. You're dismissed."

Kira blinks at him. "Commander?"

Sisko tucks the PADD under his arm and turns to face her, speaking casually, but low enough so that O'Brien won't hear.  "Jadzia is recovering in her quarters, and if you have the time, I think she might welcome a visit from a friend just now."

Odo, who's been following the conversation with some interest, suddenly becomes pointedly distracted by a ceiling tile above his head. Kira swallows a squeak of surprise. "Me? But don't you think she'd rather you --"

"I've known Dax a long time," Sisko says meditatively. "But Jadzia and I are still getting to know each other. I don't think I'm her closest friend on the station." His voice lowered. "And I think it's Jadzia who would appreciate some… support."

"Yes. Of course. Sir. I'll, uh -- I'll go now, then." She hesitates. Well, hasn't she been praying to see Jadzia again? And isn't he Emissary to the Prophets, after all? "Thank you, Commander."

"Don't mention it," Sisko says casually. She'll have to light a candle for him, too.

* * *

Jadzia's quarters seem closer than she remembers, and she's sure the door chime has gotten much louder. It's so loud that after she rings it the silence stretches down the corridor, deafening, and she almost doesn't hear the soft voice saying, "Come in."

The door slides open. Jadzia is sitting on her bunk, one leg crossed over the other, her hands folded on her knee, her back straight. Her hair is drawn back into the usual ponytail. She looks neat, composed, confident, like she always does. The scars from the surgeries and violations of the last six hours are hidden under her impeccable uniform. Her smile when she sees Kira is genuine, her blue eyes warm. Then why is she cooped up down here instead of at her post at Ops, or at Quark's having a drink she probably desperately needs? Why did Sisko say --

"Nerys, come in," she says warmly. "What brings you here?"

"I -- Sisko said --" Kira takes a breath. "Nothing, I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I'll let you get some rest."

"Please, Nerys." Jadzia's tone doesn't change, but there's something in her voice that holds Kira in place. "Come in. Stay." Jadzia pats the mattress beside her. Kira takes a few hesitant steps into the room and sits. "Benjamin sent you, didn't he? He's very sweet. I think he enjoys the chance to look after me now, after all the times I looked after him."

"He looks after everyone," Kira says. "He's the Commander, it's his job." She gathers her courage and looks up, straight at Jadzia. "How are you feeling?"

Something in Jadzia's smile turns faint and brittle, and it twists at Kira's heart. "I'm not in any pain, if that's what you mean. The surgery was a complete success, and Julian gave me a hypospray to use if --"

"That's not what I mean." Without thinking Kira leans forward, searching Jadzia's face intently for the seam, the break, the scar. She knows now what had Sisko so worried. Jadzia is straddling a fault line, balancing on the precipice of a terrible gulf. It shows in her eyes if you know what to look for, and Kira does.

"Nerys," Jadzia says, not quite a question.

Bashir and Sisko have done what they could. Now it's her turn. "Tell me what it was like," Kira says softly, intently.

The flash of open fear in Jadzia's face tells her she's hit her mark. Jadzia clasps her hands together in her lap, twisting her fingers together nervously. "It's not easy to explain," she says, more defensive than Kira's ever heard her. "You couldn't possibly understand it if you've never been Joined."

Emboldened, Kira reaches out and gently rests one of her hands over Jadzia's, stilling their restless movement. "I know that. Tell me anyway."

Jadzia lets out a long breath. Kira waits. At last Jadzia looks down at their hands and says, "I was so _empty_. Like Julian's scalpel had cut out more than a physical part of my body, like it had scraped me hollow and left just -- residue. I was so much… less than myself."

"'And he reduced them unto the seventh portion and sent them away bereft,'" Kira says under her breath. "It's from the Writings of the Prophets," she adds when Jadzia looks at her.

Jadzia nods. "I know what it's like to lose a host," she says, nearly a whisper. "I've done it six times. A part of you dies, and you never stop missing it, but it's -- the way things are meant to be. The way things are. You go on."

Another quotation rises in Kira's mind, and she hears herself murmuring, "All life is conducted in the midst of death."

"This was different. This was -- I remember being dead." This time when Jadzia looks up there are tears in her eyes. "I remember him -- Verad Dax -- _knowing_ that I was dead, and starting to -- to move on. And I remember _being_ dead, with Julian standing over me saying I wasn't going to die. That I was going to have to live as a -- a ghost. Alone."

The pressure of Kira's hand on hers grows fierce. "Not alone."

Jadzia smiles at her, and there's no joy or confidence in it, only grief. "Thank you, Nerys," she says softly. "I know you and Benjamin and the others would have done your best for me, but it wouldn't have been a life I'd wish on anyone."

"It's Verad's life now," Kira says, hearing her voice rise with anger. "And he deserves it for what he did to you."

"He was just trying to survive too, in his way."

The resignation in Jadzia's face sparks Kira's anger to fury. "You can't mean that you forgive him!"

"I've _been_ him, Nerys. It's hard not to understand someone once you've been Joined. And understanding is forgiveness, in a way."

"Well, I don't understand him, or forgive him. I never will."

"I know. And I love you for it." Before Nerys can react to that, Jadzia leans over and gently kisses her cheek. Her lips and breath are warm, alive. Nerys feels her hands tighten on Jadzia's, compulsively, not letting go. "I'm sorry," Jadzia says guiltily, pulling away to look at her face. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I just -- I feel --"

"You need someone," Nerys says, understanding. Her heart hammers at the inside of her ribs. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifts a hand to Jadzia's cheek. How can she be so frightened, after what they've already been through together? But she is frightened. She's terrified. Her fingers move gently over Jadzia's spots as she searches for the ghosts of past lifetimes in Jadzia's eyes, but sees only the woman she knows, the woman she prayed would be returned to her. "I'd imagine that with seven people in you, you don't often need to feel connected to someone else."

"I still feel empty," Jadzia whispers. "The symbiont is back, I'm Dax again, but I'm still empty. I've been captured before, held prisoner and even tortured before, but this --"

"Is different," Kira finishes. "Believe me, I know. But it will pass."

"How long?" Jadzia asks. Her voice breaks with the pressure of terror and holding back tears.

Nerys hesitates. "Maybe a long time. You'll have nightmares, flashbacks. You won't forget it. But you will feel like yourself again."

"How do you know?"

"When I was sixteen, a Cardassian patrol found the cave where our resistance cell was camped," Nerys says, matter-of-factly. "They killed the lookouts -- snapped their necks. The patrol leader pulled me out of my bed and slammed me up against the wall of the cave. I felt the tip of his phaser against the back of my head. I heard him laughing. One of the others got him in the back, but -- I died then. I should have." She pauses, remembering. "There were other times -- dozens of times. In my own mind, I've been dead for years."

Jadzia's eyes are wide, her mouth somber, the way she always looks when Kira talks about the violence in her past. "But you… feel like yourself again?"

"Some days. But you -- you're three hundred years old! You've seen things that I can't even imagine, lived through more than -- than anyone. You're going to be just fine."

"If I were Curzon, I'd go and get drunk," Jadzia says. "Verad would want to -- to hide."

"But you're Jadzia," Nerys reminds her. "Jadzia Dax."

"Nerys," Jadzia says, soft, low, pleading, "Please," and Nerys answers by kissing her, gently at first, then more forcefully, as Jadzia's hands encircle her waist and Jadzia's long, angular body leans into hers and Jadzia's smell (the faintest hint of cinnamon raktajino and chemical disinfectant) fills her nose and her lungs and her whole body all at once. "Jadzia," she breathes, and without opening her eyes she cups a hand around the back of Jadzia's neck and slides it up to the base of her ponytail, fingers searching out the tie and tugging it loose so that Jadzia's hair tumbles about her shoulders in waves. "Now I see why Sisko sent me down here instead of coming himself."

Jadzia chokes on a laugh, resting her head in the crook of Kira's neck. Kira lets her cheek fall against that dark, silky hair, and breathes in Jadzia's warmth and nearness, feeling the beat of her heart and the faintest pulsing just below her sternum where Dax rests, enthroned like the jewel in a diadem, ransacked and now returned.

"Benjamin's a dear friend," Jadzia murmurs. "But not for this. For this…" Nerys feels Jadzia's lips press to the side of her neck and move downward, tugging down the zipper of her uniform to reveal her throat, her collarbones, her chest, kissing down the zipper's path. When she's tugged the zipper down as far as it will go, she looks up at Nerys, her eyes luminous. Like the wormhole, Nerys thinks. The Prophets' blue, beyond time, beyond space.

"For this, I want you," Jadzia says. She hesitates the length of a breath. "If you want --"

"Oh, by the Prophets -- yes," Nerys snaps, and Jadzia laughs again.


End file.
